The Things I Do
by ThePurpleEmperor
Summary: The dice has been rolled, the pieces have moved, the laughter has begun. I've been summoned to serve Havelock Vetinari. Oh, how the gods are laughing. HVOFC
1. Prologue

_**The Things I Do**_

_Havelock Vetinari / OFC pairing_

_Author's Notes:_ Let's understand this from the beginning. I may be one of the more sarcastic beings on this planet, but I _cannot_ write like Terry Pratchett. Maybe a little bit. Remotely. English is my first and favorite language (Spanish is my second and my most hated and Italian is my third, even though my Italian's a bit screwy – haven't practiced in a lo-o-o-ong time) and I have a sturdy and stable grasp of it. I am completely confident in my writing and communication abilities, as well as my sarcasm. But for some reason, I just can't seem to get my sarcasm onto paper. It sucks. Live with it.

Right, so, off we go. :Yay: And people? Try to review.

_On constructive criticism and praise:_ ALWAYS APPRECIATED! Always. I love 'em both.

_On flames:_ Ever heard the phrase "If you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all?" This is my motto when I'm writing a story and getting reviews. And if it weren't for that new rule, I would ridicule you. I would. I said that I have a sturdy grasp of the English (and, to my chagrin, Spanish as well) and I wouldn't hesitate to use it. Flames piss me off. That's all they do.

_On erotica:_ frowns upon this. No more needs to be said, so don't ask.

Talking about that new rule, let me just say one thing. I ALWAYS APPRECIATE MY REVIEWERS (unless they're flamers, then may you rot in a dank prison cell that was not designed by Vetinari). Always. You guys give me motivation, ideas, life. I feed on you. You feed on me. The author/reviewer relationship is something like the author/beta, if a bit downsized. It's rather like… the host and the parasite, where we act as both. I feed on your reviews, you feed on my story.

Deal?

Deal.

Sincerely, _Shona_

P.S. In fact, if you leave me your e-mail, I promise I'll get back to you! I don't normally do it this way, as I respect my e-mail account, but I want my reviewers to know that they are appreciated. So, therefore, leave me your e-mail along with your review if you want, and as soon as I get my bloody e-mail account to open, I'll reply.

My e-mail's been kinda screwy lately.

_Prologue:_

They say everything has a beginning. Therefore, if everything has a beginning, it must have an end unless it's immortal and eternal... correct? Is that your final answer? Well, sorry, mate, but you just lost the million-dollar question. Everything has an end. If it's not now, then sometime in the future. Even gods have an end. Gods _need_ you to live, they _need_ believers so that they don't deteriorate and become smaller, and smaller, and smaller...

Somehow, you just have to feel sorry for the Small Gods.

But I'm not one of them.

I'm not an atheist because, frankly, I damn well now the things are there. Let's just say... I'm an agnostic, yeah? That seems to work. Though, knowing the gods and their rather sadistic sense of humor, I'm going to be made the fool in the most painful way possible. They're going to bring my worst nightmares to life – even though I've faced down some pretty amazing things.

The joke's already started.

The dice has been rolled. The laughter has begun. The pieces have moved.

I've been transferred to Ankh-Morpork to serve Patrician Havelock Vetinari.

Oh, how the gods are laughing.

…

Sorry the prologue's so short, but I wanted you to tell me what you think about my brief show of "philosophy" and sarcasm. It's probably not enough, but it's rather like an inside look.

Or whatever.


	2. Chapter 1

_The Things I do_

_Havelock/OFC pairing_

_Author's Notes: _Thank you, reviewers, and even though I can't address you individually, I can say thank you and here's a longer chapter. (No more author's notes like that, I promise.) It's not slash, but I'm working on that. (I really am!)

_One:_

Everyone ends up in Ankh-Morpork in the end. Most of the time. Sometimes they end up in the middle of nowhere. You know how they say "All roads lead to Ankh-Morpork"? Well, they do. They detour and mess you up. You start going to Überwald and end up in Ankh-Morpork _somehow_.

Who'd want to go to Überwald voluntarily anyway? All there is are vampires, werewolves, dwarves, and MMBU (1). Bah. Give me Ankh-Morpork over Überwald any day (and that is saying something). Sure, you'll probably be killed within your first week by choking on CMOT Dibbler's sausages, and sure, maybe you'll make a few enemies in the high places that'll put you on the Assassin's list... but still, it's an amazing experience.

Er.

Yeah.

Amazing.

Memorable, more like.

But you know, Ankh-Morpork could never compare to Sto Helit. I miss Sto Helit. But of course, when the Patrician asks for a bodyguard that's not part of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch or trained by the Assassins, the only place you can look to is the foreign nations (and we're not talking Klatch, here).

Sometimes, I wish I had gone into the Klatchian Foreign Legions.

It would have helped.

But no. Mummy decided that I was far too intelligent to be a normal, loving housewife and far too strong to be wasted. So she sent me to join the bloody Sto Helit Watch. And, what do you know, when the Patrician of Ankh-Morpork asks for a bodyguard, they send the person they want to get rid of the most.

Me.

I was never liked very much. I tended to rely on my knives more than my truncheon. Well, look, when you go in from the streets with your mum leading you into the Watch house demanding they teach her 'little child' and you grow up to be one of the most sarcastic, independent, questioning, and stubborn individuals they've ever raised, they tend to get annoyed. Really annoyed.

As in trying to suspend me, and never succeeding because for some reason... everything turned out to be self-defense.

What? It wasn't my fault!

But that is technically the reason as to why I'm standing in front of the Patrician's Palace, staring up at it with a face full of disgust and a small overnight bag slung over my shoulder. I don't live on much. With this sort of job, you can't.

I knew that there was something fundamentally wrong with all of this. I just wasn't quite sure what.

And I had a gut feeling that I was, sooner or later (2), going to find out why.

(1) Miles and Miles of Bloody Uberwald

(2) Preferably later. Much later. Like, when I'm on my deathbed and about to be laughed at by the gods for (hopefully) the last time.

"Miss Pulotti, Lord Vetinari will see you now."

I stood up from the highly uncomfortable chair (1), winced and stretched, and gave the secretary a long, steady look. He was neat. That was just about all that could be said in his favor. But, understand this: he was memorable. I nodded my thanks to Secretary Drumknott and walked into the Oblong Office.

The first thing that caught my eye was the window. It overlooked Ankh-Morpork and, frankly, was exceedingly disturbing. The second thing that caught my eye was the knife that sped through the air towards my chest. So I did the only thing I could do.

I flipped.

The knife was vibrating while embedded in the wall and I was standing at a slight diagonal from Lord Vetinari's desk, breathing heavily. I knew the man had been trained at the Assassin's Guild, but this was ridiculous! It was then that I noticed the man hadn't budged an inch from where he sat bent over his papered desk, littered sparsely with off-white papers and a dark red journal the only spot of color. He looked up, dressed in Patrician's button-down black, and lifted his eyebrows in something I dubiously pinpointed as amusement.

I wasn't quite sure.

Come to think of it, I'm still not sure.

"Is something the matter, Miss Pulotti?" he asked.

I looked over at the knife in the wall and then back at the Patrician. He had bent his head over his work again. I snorted into the silence, picked up my bag, and tossed it into a corner.

"No, my lord," I said dryly. "No problem at all."

"You do understand what you have to do... don't you?" He seemed rather uninterested, on the whole.

"Yes, my lord," I continued in the same tone as I leaned against the wall and put my right foot up so that it was flat against it. "I shall strive to do my best."

"That's good, Miss Pulotti. Anything other than that will result in a very dead Patrician."

I don't know from what རྗ the price over his head was enough to make my eyes boggle. Of course, the nobility could pay it རྗ but if they did, face it, Ankh-Morpork streets would be tossed into chaos.

I could see that this was going to be a very fun job.

(1) They are rather like the chairs you find outside the doctor's office. They are specifically made to induce nervousness. After ten years of putting up with them, you tend to become immune.


	3. Chapter 2

_The Things I do_

_Havelock/OFC pairing_

_Author's Notes:_ (I'm still reeling from the fact that I can't address you all individually! Arg! Expect e-mails from me soon, I'm working on my account!) One: I ENJOY CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM. Thought I ought to make that stand out. I love it. I devour it. I'm a bloody constructive criticism vampire! (But if you flame me, I'll have to use you to roast my chicken – I eat chicken whenever possible). Two: Someone tells me more description, someone tells me more narration (thank you to both of you, by the way). I've landed in a happy medium. Maybe. I'm not sure. Tell me. Three: The reason behind her description of the window is in chapter four. Four: The formatting SUCKS. This one's going to be better. Five: The squares were hyphens. Six: No, no slash. (Future story will be slash). Seven: I hope she continues to be likeable. If there's something you're dubious about (you know who you are) tell me! Eight: (you who you are when I say this) My grandma thinks like that. :giggle: Just talk louder.

I'll shut up now.

Don't kill me, FF dot Net! Please::cowers:

ooo

_Two:_

I met my second challenge just two hours into the job. I had mostly been lurking in a shadowy corner, being unobtrusive and playing silently with a knife. I was practicing my sleight-of-hand – the Sto Helit guards have a lot of time on their hands. Drumknott had come in a few times and both times I had strived to ignore him, but always paying attention out of the corner of my eyes and ears. I don't trust people.

Not even my employers.

Then, Drumknott told Vetinari that a Commander Vimes was coming alone. I wrinkled my nose. Vimes? Old Stoneface? When I saw that my assumption had been correct, I shot up onto my feet and caressed the edge of my blade, watching him warily.

"Sir," Vimes said shortly. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yes, Sir Samuel, I did."

Sir Samuel? Oh that's right. The man had been made a duke.

The silence was strained as it continued, broken only by the scribbling of Vetinari's quill.

"Sir Samuel, there is someone I'd like you to meet. Sergeant Pulotti?"

Vimes swivelled his gaze over to me as I made my detached exit from the shadows, a bored look imprinted on my features. He swept me over with his eyes, giving me a cursory look, before returning his steel gaze back to a point over Vetinari's shoulder.

"Yes, sir?"

"This is Carla Pulotti. From the Sto Helit Watch. I trust you and the Watch will make her welcome."

The man's features and eyes didn't waver for an instant.

"Yes, sir."

"I daresay you received her file from her superior officer?" Vetinari still didn't look up.

"Yes, sir."

"And have you read it?"

"Yes, sir." There was an underlying meaning there that I didn't get, but obviously Vetinari did because I saw his lips twitch for a moment before he looked up at the Commander.

"It's very interesting, isn't it?"

I kept my gaze firmly planted on Old Stoneface's nose as he looked over at me again.

"It's... creative."

I couldn't help it. I smirked for a brief second before I schooled my face again.

"It sounded like she belonged in the Shades."

My eyes whipped to his at that. Now, wait just a blooming instant... I'm not that bad!

"That's a bit of an overstatement, Commander."

"Sorry, sir."

"It was all in self-defense."

"Of course, sir."

"She has one holiday a month, which she can be free to take wherever her fancy chooses – either here in the small room provided for her or at Pseudopolis Yard."

I realized that he was informing me of my job without talking to me directly. Wonderful. Someone else who thinks I'm scum and can't talk to me in the face without feeling the need to take a long, hot shower.

"She'll be given the needed eight hours of sleep, in which I hope you find a replacement guard."

"Captain Carrot has volunteered, sir," Vimes said in a strained voice.

"Mm. No, I think... I think Sergeant Angua will be suitable."

"Very good, sir." He sounded suspiciously relieved.

"I think, Sir Samuel, that is all the business we will conduct for today."

"Good day, sir."

Vimes walked stiffly out of the room and I leaned back against the wall, watching him leave and close the door. After a few seconds, I heard a thump, like someone hitting the wall.

"Do you have any silver on you, Sergeant Pulotti?"

"Yes, my lord. My mother's old silver pentagram."

It was currently hanging on a silver chain, pressed against my chest in a comfortable, warm way.

"When you come into close contact with the Watch, do endeavor to keep it out of... range."

I'm not stupid. There was a werewolf in the Watch.

"I'll do my best, sir," I said swiftly.

"What are your knives made out of?"

"No silver, sir. Gold, steel, iron, platinum..."

No answer. I took that as a way of saying 'good' without really saying it. The rest, in short, was silence.

I was relieved of my duties (frankly, practicing the same moves over and over again can get frightfully boring sometimes) and a Sergeant Angua led me to the Watch House – Pseudopolis Yard. I saw the way she looked – hunted. I think I just found the werewolf.

"Do you have a room in the Watch House?" I asked her. She looked over at me, eyes looking a bit glazed over.

"No."

I nodded and she opened the door. When I walked in, it was a wall of sound hitting me in the face and causing me to fall back in baffled surprise. Good gods, the noise level was... the word deafening doesn't do it justice!

"... look, I know that even the undead have to hold a job, but working for Silver Manufacturer's Incorporated?"

"It had good pay!"

"... the daft bugger was trying to drown himself in the Ankh!"

"Good luck with that one!"

"... recruit had a silver charm in his pocket. Vimes went spare!"

"Angua never does much about it."

There was my proof.

Angua seemed oblivious to the conversation going on about her as she led me up the stairs to an office that I presumed was Commander Vimes. The sight I saw was one I shall treasure forever.

Old Stoneface buried behind mountain ranges of paperwork.

My lips twitched madly and I contrived to keep a solemn expression.

"Sergeant Pulotti, please have a seat."

"Thank you, Commander St – Vimes."

I winced at the slipup as he looked up sharply and I stared over his shoulder.

I wouldn't be reading his paperwork upside-down until I was working here at least two weeks.

I sat down stiffly, hands clenched in my lap, and I swivelled my gaze to his nose.

"Sergeant Pulotti, it is a… pleasure to have you here."

I lifted an eyebrow.

"The Patrician was… pleased when he heard that Sto Helit had sent you. He liked the… reports on you."

He watched me for a moment, distrust evident on his features, and I settled for looking bored.

"He said it would be... useful."

"Indeed, Commander?"

"Angua will show you to the room we'll have for you." He watched me. I gave him a leveled look. "Good day, Sergeant Pulotti."

I stood up, clicked my heels together, and tipped my head in his direction. "Duke Vimes."

His face froze and, in a slightly better frame of mind, I exited the room to find a rather amused Angua waiting for me. The room was... well, a room. There was a bed, a box, a small dresser with four drawers that was falling apart, and a stained, cracked mirror balanced precariously on top.

It need some work.

No, let me rephrase that.

It needed to be torn down and replaced completely.

"It's... a room. I suppose," I said dubiously, eyeing the mirror.

Angua gave a short bark of laughter and I walked back out the Yard with my hands deep in the pockets of my trench coat and my blank expression planted firmly on my features. I entered the Palace and walked up the stairs, entering the anteroom and looking over at Drumknott. He didn't pay any attention to me as I walked by him and opened the door to the Office.

My ears heard a whizz and my hand snapped out, meeting a steel shaft. I turned my head to face the door to see the quivering tip of an arrow. My palm burned but I ignored it as I entered the Oblong Office and kicked the door closed. A man dressed in black stood frozen in the shadows and a rather entertained Vetinari sat behind his desk.

"Ah, Sergeant Pulotti. How wonderful for you to join us."

"My lord," I said, amusement tinging my voice. "Is something the matter?" I asked heavily, twirling the crossbow arrow around in my hands, fiddling with it.

"This is... James, isn't it?"

"Y-yes, milord."

"James is a novice from the Assassin's Guild sent to test your strengths."

"It was a well-thrown arrow." I tossed him the arrow and went up to lean against the side of Vetinari's desk. He looked up at me serenely and I hurriedly straightened. "Next time, count on the person that's walking through the door to have a heightened sense of awareness."

"Y-yes, milady."

"It's Pulotti, James."

He nodded mutely and I gestured for him to go. He scrambled away, out the window. I watched him in amusement and then faded into the shadows once more, dragging out my knife and playing with it.

"Do you play chess, Sergeant Pulotti?" Vetinari asked suddenly.

I looked up in surprise. "Not very well, my lord."

"Would you like to learn?" I twitched.

"Of course, my lord."

Just agree with everything your employer says and life will be just grand.

It took all my will to hold my tongue.


	4. Chapter 3

_The Things I do_

_Havelock/OFC pairing_

_Author's Note:_ Look! I've updated::gasp: Sorry, this is very much long overdue. I want to thank all my loverly reviewers (as I bemoan about my classes and monotonous professors). As for that little note that someone put (:coughAndycough:) – Carla will NOT remain utterly unfazed by everything, you can COUNT on that.

ooo

_Three:_

The arrival of Lord Downey, head of the Assassin's Guild, was a visit that I did not appreciate in the slightest. Following him was the fool child James, looking much less scared and more like the calm, cold people the Assassin's Guild created.

"My lord Vetinari," Downey said. His eyes flickered over to me and I held his gaze, one that darkened every lengthened second.

We were seated at a small table, a chessboard between us. I played the black. I rather think that Vetinari derived some secret glee from watching me lose because I couldn't move first.

I _always_ make the first move. The first move to defend myself, that is.

But you knew that.

I currently found myself in a tricky position and knew that, whatever I moved, he'd probably shove me into another graceless checkmate.

"Lady Pulotti."

"It's just Pulotti, my lord Downey," I said politely.

He seemed a bit miffed, but he nodded.

"Lord Downey, to what do I owe this impromptu entrance?" Vetinari asked, rising from his chair (1).

"My lord Vetinari, I am complaining about the treatment of my novice. You asked for a tester of your bodyguard's abilities and we provided you with one. I am not in the habit of seeing them truly threatened."

I bristled. I hadn't threatened him! I hadn't harmed a hair on that lying head of his!

"You are no longer an Assassin, my lord Vetinari," Downey seemed fit to point out.

Vetinari lifted his eyebrow (2). "Indeed, Lord Downey?"

The man seemed to be backpedaling furiously. "You are the Patrician, you should allow your bodyguards to do their job." I gave him points for keeping a cool facade.

"Therefore I should not be able to use what I learned when I am threatened?"

Silence from Lord Downey told me that he had given up. There was just no reasoning with Patrician Vetinari.

"Good day, Lord Downey," Vetinari said affably before sitting down again (3) and turning his attention back to the game.

Downey stared at Vetinari, then at me. I gave him a level look and he left. James eyeballed me before following Lord Downey. The door closed silently and I looked over at Vetinari again.

"It's your move," he said in the same tone he had used with Downey.

I turned my attention back to the game.

I fought to the bitter end and lost spectacularly.

The gods are having a hell of a time.

ooo

(1) Vetinari is a very tall, slim man, muscled slightly from his years in the Assassin's Guild. Watching him stand is like watching a swan take flight – every move is graceful and takes an excruciatingly long time to complete.

(2) Vetinari's eyebrows are things to be admired. The right part lifts first, high enough to nearly grace the top of his forehead. The left part follows after the person he is directing them to has derailed, giving him a surprised look. The man is a master at derailment.

(3) Watching him sit down is even worse. I swear I could hear his joints creak – and he's barely thirty-five.

There were two doors hidden in the shadows of the Oblong Office, one to the left and one to the right. I had a room that beat even the one in the Yard – it was small, the bed was falling apart, and there wasn't even a box – and a shower that looked out into the Office. After dinner, I left both doors open and took a 3-minute shower – one of my specialties – and dressed comfortably, readying for a long night in front of Vetinari's bedroom door.

I sat on the bed, the springs creaking horribly beneath my weight and the frame sagging alarmingly, I pulled my crossbow out of my bag and loaded it, tongue stuck between my teeth. Then, whistling, with the crossbow tossed over my shoulder, I exited my room jauntily, closing the door using my foot.

Vetinari was again at his desk, wearing a black dressing gown. He didn't seem to have any intention of going to bed soon, so I sat down, set my crossbow in my lap, and took quick cat naps in intervals of an hour. After my third, I heard Vetinari moving about and getting ready to sleep. He looked over at me and blew out the candle, plunging us into darkness. I relaxed and, in the dark, his eyes gleamed at me.

"Good night, my lord," I said.

"Good night, Sergeant Pulotti."

"I'd ask you to leave your door open..."

"Of course."

I blinked. No one, especially males, had ever left their doors open for me. I watched him enter and he left the door open as he took off his dressing gown. My eyes spun away and I realized that my face was as hot as an oven in growing horror. I thanked the dark.

"You're glowing, Sergeant Pulotti," he said in a conversational tone, and the color on my cheeks darkened and crept across my neck. "Is something the matter?"

I could hear my voice coming out strained, as if forcing it through a constricted airway.

"No, Patrician!"

"Sergeant Angua will be by in a few hours to let you sleep."

"Yes, Patrician!"

"Sergeant Pulotti, you seem to be having trouble breathing. Do I need for Drumknott to send for a doctor?"

Not trusting myself to speak, I shook my head.

"Very well."

I heard the rustling of sheets and I pinched the bridge of my nose.

It was going to be a long night.

ooo

Short, concise, and the next one is one of my favorites.


	5. Chapter 4

_The Things I do_

_Havelock/OFC pairing_

Edited version of chapter 4

Perks changed for Parts at last. :p Trust me to mess that up.

_Author's Note_: Again, I have updated::squee: Thanks to all the reviewers, you've made my day! As for the comment on Vetinari's age, I will at some point, change it. But here's a note so that you know: Vetinari is FORTY-five and Carla is thirty-two. It'll turn up in chapter six, I believe. So, with that said, I'm off to help with dinner.

_Four:_

I opened my eyes blearily at the sound of someone walking quietly across the boards of my room. Or trying to be quiet and not succeeding, anyway. I waited until the dark form was right next to me and I swept out my dagger from under my pillow, poking them in the stomach.

"It's tipped with holy water," I said.

The vampire froze and I opened my eyes. Ah.

"Lieutenant Maladicta. Forgive me."

I shoved the dagger back under my pillow and sat up, the covers falling away from my ripped tunic. Lieutenant Maladicta loosened up.

"What are you doing here at –" I looked at the imp-run clock that I had slammed onto a crate I had dragged up from the wine cellar, "– four-thirty in the morning?"

"Letter from Captain Parts."

"Polly Parts? Old Poll?"

I took the letter and, propping myself up on one elbow, opened it up. The words were short, precise, and disheartening.

"Shit. Tell her thank you on my part, will you?"

Maladicta nodded.

"How come she didn't send a carrier?" I asked as I got up and dragged my dressing robe over my shoulders, shoving the letter into a pocket.

"Confidential Information, For Your Eyes Only," she recited.

I lifted an eyebrow. Oh, the things Old Poll could do.

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

I picked up my crossbow and exited the room, thumbing at the ash-blonde wolf in the shadows to leave. She nudged me with her shiny black nose and trotted out of the Oblong Office, tail in the air. I looked out the window of the Oblong Office and shuddered. Who would want to see almost the whole of Ankh-Morpork? It's... scary. It's scary to know that there are so many places in Ankh-Morpork. It should damn well be smaller.

I looked down at the letter again and then I heard movement in the Patrician's chamber. My head snapped over to it and there was a shadow moving there, slowly. I let them hear the clink of my crossbow and the shadow froze.

"Patrician? Are you all right?"

The shadow turned and I flicked the knob of a lamp, lighting it. The Patrician's hooked nose, impassive face, and dark eyes stared at me. Then, one single eyebrow lifted in that special way of his and I suddenly felt supremely stupid. I lowered the bow.

"Sorry, my lord."

He came out of the room, letting the lamp illuminate the fact that his dressing robe was open, revealing his bare, chiseled chest. I kept my eyes focused on a point six inches over his shoulder, having learned a trick from Vimes. The man serves some use! Vetinari, almost casually, closed his robe and tied the knot loosely.

"Why was Lieutenant Maladicta here?" he asked.

"Poll sent me a letter, sir."

"Poll?" he asked with another arching of his eyebrow. The man is incorrigible.

"Captain Parts, sir."

"Ah. You are acquaintances, then?"

"No, sir. Friends. I served with her in the brief battle with Klatch a few years ago."

"Why were you all the way in Klatch fighting with Captain Parts' regiment?"

"My superiors got fed up with me... sir."

"Do loosen up, Sergeant Pulotti. You are far more relaxed than Commander Vimes."

My eyes swivelled to his. His face hadn't changed one jot. The man was starting to infuriate me.

"Yes, sir," I said mechanically.

I watched him move to sit behind his desk and he steepled his fingers, looking over the long tips at me. I suddenly felt rather bereft of protection. I think I could have walked in preceded by a dragon and followed by mad, rabid dogs that reached my waist and holding a loaded crossbow like the legendary crossbow of Sergeant Detritus and he still could have made me felt like a six-year-old being reprimanded by their mother for sticking their hand in the cookie jar.

Or something of the sort.

"But I believe that when you arrived at Parts' regiment, you were only a constable..."

If you know it, why the hell are you asking me?

"Yes, sir. Captain Parts promoted me after my second week there."

I am such a weakling.

"So you are on good terms with Captain Parts' old regiment?"

The one that turned out to be completely female? And all of them crazy as a package of mixed nuts?

"Yes, sir."

Obviously, something is intercepting my thoughts before they reached my mouth.

"Has Captain Parts promised you a position with her in her regiment if you ever need it?"

My eyes flickered down to the paper I had released and I swore mentally for giving him the answer.

"Yes, sir," I said through clenched teeth. I saw him look down at the paper and lift an eyebrow again. Damn it, I'm going to peel that eyebrow off him soon.

"Is she offering to take you away from Ankh-Morpork?"

Look, you annoying little man, I'm not going to leave you bereft of your precious protection, so you can stop worrying and asking me what the hell Poll sent me in the letter!

"Yes, sir."

I was starting to get increasingly furious with myself.

"I would suggest you didn't. I'm paying your wages at this moment."

"Yes... sir," I managed to grind out. "Wouldn't dream of it... sir..."

"Ah, very good, Sergeant. You look like you could use some food."

"I'm... fine... sir."

A candle flared to life and he swivelled in his chair to look out the window. I stayed frozen in my position, staring at the window frame.

"You're still standing there, Sergeant."

"Sorry, sir."

I moved and hid in a corner, playing wistfully with a knife tip. Boy, oh boy... sticking this into that slim man's skin was starting to look re-eal friendly.

ooo

Read, review... be friendly. :grin:

-Sho


	6. Chapter 5

_The Things I do_

_Havelock/OFC pairing_

_Author's Note_: Look, I updated. I'm sooooooo sorry for the long wait. My life has been incredible, to say an understatement. But here is the long-awaited, partially unedited chapter five. Chapter six WILL be up sometime next week, because I have a vacation – :punches air in triumph: I thank you for your patience, which must have been wearing thin.

_Five:_

Vetinari was eating the lunch that the cook had sent up for him, after about three different people, including myself, had tasted it. I was still standing half-an-hour later, so I suppose that it wasn't poisoned. Of course, I could be found dead tomorrow morning, but at least then no one could condemn me after Vetinari died as well.

But of course, I wasn't that lucky.

In the silence of the room, broken only by the rustling of papers and the soft clinking of the fork and knife against the plate, I heard a definite 'click!'. I knew that sound. Someone had just locked the door. Casually, I loaded my crossbow and wound it up, ready to fire. I heard something tinkle against the roof outside the window and the next thing I knew, I was throwing Vetinari across the floor as we were showered in glass. I felt the shards pierce my skin and I winced as I looked over my shoulder.

There were shouts outside and someone was rattling the door.

"My lord Vetinari!"

"Everything's fine, Drumknott," I said easily, standing up and offering a slashed and bloody hand to Vetinari. His hand was lean, strong, and warm in mine as I helped him up out of sheer courtesy.

I turned around, crossbow aimed at the sword-wielding figure.

"This crossbow," I started in a conversational tone, "if aimed correctly and shot at a close enough distance, could pierce your skull the whole way through before you could slice me or the Patrician in half. Think about it. I've been dying for some fried human brains lately."

The figure, dressed in black and face covered by a black scarf, spun his sword at me – a scimitar. Ah. Klatchian.

"Sergeant Pulotti, I believe you've forgotten something." Vetinari sounded regretful.

"Oh, no, sir. I've rigged up a dagger to pierce the yellow-bellied bastard's spine when I pull this rope."

Taking away one hand, I fingered the rope that blended in with the wall. Behind Vetinari, the other Klatchian took a step back.

"I suggest you don't move another step, _offendi_. And you! Put down the bloody sword."

He threw it at me, curving sword forming silver circles in the air. I slammed Vetinari against the wall, my hips pressing against his back, and I was sprayed with blood. I pulled away from him again and looked down at the man sliced in half. I clicked my tongue.

"And I was so hoping we'd get to do this without killing anyone."

The sound of metal against sheathe made me react and I sent the bolt through his brain. The Klatchian collapsed.

"Are you all right, sir?" I asked perfunctorily as I looked down at the dead swordsman.

"A bit tossed about, but nothing lasting."

"Sorry about that, sir. Oy! Drumknott! Get the Watch! Sergeant Angua, Commander Vimes, and an iconographer!"

"You're sliced, Sergeant."

I looked down at myself. I had blood everywhere – my own and the sliced and diced Klatchian's.

"Nothing that can't heal on it's own and get washed off with water, Patrician. Sit down, please."

"Sergeant –"

"Sit _down_, Patrician."

He lifted an eyebrow at me and I did what I thought I never could – I lifted my own eyebrow in a mirror image of his. He did sit down, looking rather unconvinced. I then checked to see if I had broken anything.

"What are you doing, Sergeant?" he asked sharply.

"Checking to see if I broke something. Tell me when it stings, will you, Patrician?"

"I'm sure that I'm fi – ine."

"Mm-hm. Pull the other one, my lord, it's got bells on. I think I've bruised something. Give me a moment."

I walked into my room and pulled out a bandage from my bag. And now, the part I dreaded.

"Unbutton your shirt, sir."

"Excuse me?"

"I do intend to bandage the bruise, sir, I almost broke a bone. In fact, I think I've cracked something."

He sat up and an audible _crack!_ resounded through the Oblong Office. He froze.

"Sit. Down."

He sat down slowly and I could see his face paling. Patricians. Think they're stronger than all of us, the idiots. In a business-like manner, which was necessary for the moment, I started on his outer jacket and released the cravat. He was stiff as I unbuttoned his shirt and I winced as I noticed the spreading purple and black bruise.

"Damn."

"What is it, Sergeant?"

"I think... you'll be fine, sir."

I picked up the bandage and necessary first aid as I went down on my knees and began to wrap it around him, holding one hand to the middle of his spine to make sure he didn't fall back. In the awkward position, I found myself kneeling between his legs as I tightened the bandage. I heard his sharp intake of breath.

"Sorry about that, sir."

"Don't worry, Sergeant. I am happy in the fact that I have once against escaped the skeletal hands of Death."

"Yes, sir."

I tied off the bandage before looking up at him. He was staring down at me through lidded eyes.

"Is that better, sir?"

"Much, thank you, Sergeant."

"Where's the damn Watch?" I grumbled as I picked up the shirt. The sounds of thudding feet answered my question. Vetinari made to stand and I offered him my arm. To my eternal surprise, he took it and face the window as he pulled the long-sleeved shirt over his shoulders. I could see the pain it took for him to move his torso as he buttoned the shirt.

The door thudded open.

"Are you sure you're fine with this, sir?" I asked him lowly.

He gave me a look and I took a mental step back.

"Right, sir, I'll just go tell the Watch what happened."

"Pulotti, what the hell happened?" Ah. Vimes.

"Klatch happened, Sir Samuel," I said as I took on a dry tone. "Or have you missed the scimitar embedded into that man's chest?"

Angua's nostrils flared as she entered.

"You need a shower," she growled.

I looked down at my blood-stained body.

"Good idea. Who's your iconographer?"

A dwarf raised his hand. I peered at him and in my head, formed a metal 'o' of surprise. The dwarf wore lipstick, a pair of gold earrings, and... a skirt. She, then.

"Sergeant Pulotti..."

"Sergeant Cheery," she whispered.

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant. As you can see there's... a lot of blood here..."

I looked over at the dishes and picked up the silverware.

"I'll just get rid of this."

I moved to my room and kicked the door closed, opening a window and tossing the silverware out it before stepping into the shower and biting back whimpers as various cuts stung when water made contact. I looked at myself in the mirror and watched some sliced pores continue to pool blood. I wrapped bandages around my arms and fixed a scratch near my temple before dressing and ripping the sleeves off my bloodstained tunic.

Outside, Vetinari was seated at his desk, acting for all the world as if nothing had happened, Sergeant Cheery was photographing the corpses, Wolf-Angua was sniffing at the blood, and Commander Vimes was seated rigidly in a chair. I started to whistle cheerily as I hefted my crossbow onto my shoulder. I could feel Stoneface's accusing glare penetrating the side of my head and I looked over at him and winked cheekily.

"You all right, my lord Vetinari?" I asked as I leaned against his desk. He looked up at me and I read the annoyance around his eyes. "I think you should rest, sir. Take your papers in with you."

He didn't move his gaze from my face and I pulled away from my desk.

"Anything you want to ask, Sir Samuel?"

The accusing glare didn't abate as he stood up.

"Please describe in your own words what happened," he said in a choked voice.

Grinning evilly, I proceeded to tell my story.

There are just so many ways to push the buttons of Sir Samuel Vimes, the Duke of Ankh and Commander of the Night Watch.

One of them is being an annoying, indifferent Lord Vetinari.

The other is being an annoying, smart-mouthed Sto Helit sergeant.

It was nearly three hours later when the Watch finally cleared out. The rug was stained with blood, but Drumknott had sent a carrier to find some replacement sections and another for a replacement window, which was to be done as soon as possible. Vetinari was seated at his desk, writing in his journal. I had been commanded to rest by none other than Sergeant Angua, who was tired of smelling the blood pouring through the bandages, so I was sulking in a chair in a corner, twanging a knife against the edge of a nearby desk.

"Stop sulking, Sergeant. No doubt we will receive more excitement soon."

I looked over Vetinari's bent head and glared. His head moved and I schooled my features (1).

"Yes, sir."

ooo

(1) I believe he has eyes hidden everywhere on his body. Maybe under his skin...

ooo

Read, review. Feel free to pound me over the head – maybe you can get rid of my migraine.

Much hugs,

The Purple Emperor


	7. Chapter 6

_The Things I Do_

_Havelock/OFC pairing_

Again, sorry. The holiday spirits caught up with me, as well as work. Blame my professors.

Without referring to people by name:smile, I shall answer comments and questions briefly. Read carefully.

The previous action sequence will be edited. It is confusing and must be clarified, especially the whole trap thing... This will not be a very long story – it will possibly end in chapter thirteen or fourteen.

I did update and, having a new friend that reads my stuff and is a FANATIC of writing, he will make sure that I update regularly. Give a big hand to PRIDE-FALL, people – if you like Naruto fanfiction, look him up, he's brilliant. Currently, he hasn't been taking his meds... :p

So, chapter six. Longish. Enjoy. Thank you for your lovely reviews. Your patience must be flying out the window by now.

---

_Six:_

"Sergeant, is something the matter?"

I looked up at Drumknott as I extinguished the lamp. He was staring at me intently, in a way that made my skin crawl, and my eyes looked over his shoulder instead of at him. Apparently, he picked up a few things from Vetinari.

"I'm fine, Drumknott."

"You seem distracted."

"I'm fine, Drumknott."

"You missed the target last night during your break."

"I slipped. I'm fine, Drumknott."

"You never miss, not even when you slip. You seem to be –"

"_Drumknott, I'm fine so bugger off._"

He snorted at me.

"Sergeant Pulotti, I will not let you do your job until you tell me what is the matter."

"I feel uneasy." There. It was out. Let the whole world know that Sergeant Carla Pulotti feels uneasy because she's been there a month and the Klatchians that came after the Patrician before haven't attacked.

"Oh, good. I thought I was the only one."

I stared at him. Drumknott gave me a smile and left me to my musings. I turned my head to stare out the window and shuddered. It was to my relief that something happened that night.

A dart whistled through the window, breaking one small pane, and I ducked. It lodged into the wall and I rushed to the window, looking out it. There was a figure in the darkness and I crouched away, slipping out a knife as the figure extended a hand through the broken pane and swung open a section of the new window. Once he was facing Vetinari's open door, I jabbed my knife into the base of his spine and felt him freeze in horror.

"Hello, there."

"**Crap.**"

"I don't understand Klatchian, my friend."

"**Can you please bugger off?**"

"Don't you know Morporkian?"

"**No.**"

"Mate, I know you have to know a little bit because the dart is from The Bunch of Grapes."

"**Bugger.**"

"So, mate, start talking or you'll know what it's like to have your spinal cord sticking out of your stomach."

"**Kiss my ass.**"

He moved and dragged out a pill from his sleeves. I clobbered him, watching him fall into unconsciousness.

"Bloody hell."

I reached for a pen on Vetinari's desk and started scribbling a message, looking out the open window and whistling for a pigeon. I tied it to the bird's leg, making sure the red band was visible, and sent it to Captain Carrot.

I had met Carrot the day after the Klatchian attack. He was a dwarf you could remember.

For one thing, he was six feet tall.

For another, he was straighter than a bloody plank.

But he was a dwarf.

I could hardly believe it, but he was.

And he spoke Klatchian.

At the moment, that was all I wanted.

"Quiet, Captain, Vetinari is sleeping."

"No, he is not."

"Bloody hell, and I hoped to do this without an audience."

A light flared to life and I caught site of Vetinari tying the knot of his dressing gown. He looked haggard, tired.

"Sir, pardon my Klatchian, but you look like shit."

He gave me a tired look. "I know, Sergeant. Please explain what is going on."

"Attacker. If you wouldn't mind noticing, it is now the twentieth... the same date as the previous attack."

"I did notice, Sergeant. Is he dead?"

"No, sir. The bugger tried to kill himself, but I stopped him. Captain Carrot, if you don't mind..."

I slapped the man's face and Carrot handed me smelling salts. I waved them under the man's nose, who choked and came to life. Instantly, I pounced on his hands and forced him to look at Carrot.

"Have at it, Captain Carrot!" I said cheerfully.

"Er..."

"Captain, he tried to kill the Patrician... oh, yes, all right, read him his bloody rights!"

In annoyance, I listened to him babble away in Klatchian before looking up at me and beginning the questioning.

"**What's your name?**"

"**Al Khali.**"

"**I doubt it, offendi.**"

"**Let's not fight about it.**"

"**Very well, Al Khali. Who sent you?**"

"**No one.**"

"**You enjoy being difficult, don't you?**"

I tuned out the rest of it, seeing as how I didn't understand it, and started doing the multiplication tables in elvish in my head. I stumbled over twelve times twelve and registered Carrot talking to me.

"So?"

He dragged the man out from under me, tying his hands behind his back, and handed me his notebook. I struggled with the writing, bad spelling, and punctuation problems.

_He sed his Name is Al Kali but I do not Believe him. A Secret Sekt sent him to kill the Patrician for a Secret Mision. Everyone in the Sekt is Klachian, he sed. The previus Hideout was in Dagon Street._

I shuddered as I finished it up.

"All right. Off you trot, then."

I watched them go, with Carrot trying to induce conversation, and I collapsed into a chair, staring at the badly written words.

"That was quite an interesting conversation."

"Huh?" I said intelligently.

"I did not know that Carrot had such persuasive measures in another language."

I looked over at the Patrician, who held out one hand for the piece of paper, presumably. I got a good look at it in the light. It was pale and I could see his blue veins. Hidden strength rippled in them as I set the paper in his hands and watched him frown as he tried to decipher it. I shifted uneasily when he finished and his gaze bored through my skull.

"Go get Sergeant Angua."

"Yessir," I said as I stood up, my eyes averting from his and staring at the window frame in interest.

"Sergeant, look at me."

I flinched inwardly and looked at the Patrician. His hawk-like eyes unnerved me and my eyes flashed away almost instantly.

"Sergeant Pulotti, do I have something on my face?"

"No sir," I said levelly as I forced myself to look back at him.

He was now standing up to his full height and I tilted my head back slightly to stare at his nose. Out of the corner of my eye, a shadow flitted against the walls and I snapped out my knife.

"It's only Constable Swires, Sergeant."

I turned to look. The shadow was no larger than a foot or two. I followed it down, down, down, down... I met the tiny, beady gaze of a gnome.

"Nng."

"Sergeant Pulotti," Contable Swires said.

"Nng."

"Is something the matter, Sergeant?"

"Nng – no – sir," I managed.

"You look rather frozen, Sergeant," I heard Vetinari say.

"N – fine – sir."

Swires climbed up my trousers and my spine stiffened in horror as he leaped from the hem of my tunic to the desk. The skin of my leg tingled as I took one solid step back.

"Thank you for coming, Constable Swires. I take it you have the Commander's reply?"

The gnome nodded and Vetinari looked up at me. I worked my jaw before managing to get out a hurried 'yessir' and walking as fast as possible out of the room without looking as if I was running for my life.

A gnome crushed all the bones in my partner's leg. Enough said.

I walked into the Watch House, hands shoved into my trench coat pockets, and spotted Angua leaning against the rail of the stairs. I went up to her and we went up the stairs in silence, Angua opening the door to Commander Vimes' office. Old Stoneface looked up at us.

"Commander," we said at the same instant.

"Angua, Sergeant Pulotti. Close the door."

My heel snapped back and the door slammed shut as I lowered myself into a chair. He eyeballed me and I stared at him coolly.

"We have a problem," he started. Well, _that_ was the understatement of the year. "We have a Klatchian sect that wants to kill the Patrician and they can only do it the twentieth of a month, I believe. Carrot said that they were in Dagon Street...?"

I nodded. Angua stood up and motioned for me to follow.

"Go to Dagon Street, Sergeants. See what you can find."

I followed Angua out of Pseudopolis Yard and we walked into the Shades, looking as if for all the world we were painted on the wall. Angua walked into an alley and I gathered her clothes for her, setting them in a bag that she had picked up on the way out. Slinging it over my shoulder, I turned my back to her and waited.

When a cold nose nudged my knee, I moved along, the blonde werewolf trotting along beside me, black nose sniffing the air. She moved faster and I loped along behind her, hands clutched around the hilt of a knife. We turned into Dagon Street and she ran, howling madly, into an alley.

"Ser –" My words were cut off by a knife pressing against the small of my back. I cursed myself for letting my guard down.

"**Sergeant Pulotti, how nice to see you at last.**"

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Of cour**se**. I **sh**ould have known that you didn't know Kl**atch**ian. For**gi**ve an old man."

The accent was atrocious, but understandable.

"I un**derst**and that you have cau**gh**t Al **Kh**ali. You do reali**ze** that we have mov**e**d."

"Then why are you here?"

"Merely to ca**tch** you in the a**ct**, Sergea**nt**."

"I feel so special," I spat.

"You **sh**ould, Sergea**nt**. It was me."

The last thing I saw was the twinkling of stars before the ground rushed up to make my acquaintance... and it didn't even stop to have tea.

Sunlight rushed through my eyelids, annoying me no end, and I twitched and groaned. Every muscle in my body screamed at me for letting my guard down and every pore in my skin whimpered for a bath. I peeled my eyelids apart and squinted at the familiar ceiling. The Palace. I was back at the Palace.

Thank whatever god decided to bestow some mercy upon me.

"Sergeant Pulotti?"

I tilted my head up and saw Vetinari standing rigidly in the doorway.

"Sir," I said hoarsely.

"Sergeant Angua told me about the attack. I suggest you freshen up, Sergeant." I slanted an eyebrow in his direction. "I have company this afternoon."

I groaned once he left and moved my aching body into the shower stall, where I worked at my skin and muscles as best I could. Once I was dressed loosely in brown trousers and a more-or-less presentable tunic, I dragged myself down into the Rats Chamber, threw myself into a chair in a dark corner, and closed my eyes.

I heard the leaders of the city – as they like to be known – walk in, chattering away in low voices. I cracked my eye open. Head of the Thieve's Guild, Assassin's Guild, Butcher's Guild, Merchant's Guild, Seamstress's Guild (ha, ha), and others took their positions around the table. The more or less important lords were there, too, including Lord Selachii. The Patrician walked in just then and they went quiet as he sat down.

"We seem to be missing someone," he said in his cool tone. The door opened and Vimes, looking like absolute shit, sat down in the chair that lay across from Vetinari and ran his shaking fingers through matted hair. "Ah, Commander Vimes, how good of you to join us."

"My Lord," he said through clenched teeth.

Smiling, I shut down their conversation and rested my muscles, which still complained about their harsh treatment. My dozing was rudely interrupted by a harsh yell and the shattering of glass. Tiredly, I opened my eyes to see a man with his back to me, holding a dagger to Vetinari's throat. Almost everyone had some sort of weapon drawn at least half-way.

"My Lord Vetinari, it is an infinite pleasure to see you."

I knew that voice, but I couldn't pin it down.

"Sir Afhan."

I refrained from growling as I stood up and poked my hunting knife into the small of Afhan's spine.

"It would be a good idea to let him go, mate."

"Carla! What a pleasure to see you again!" The rat bastard actually sounded pleased.

"Afhan. It's not a pleasure to see you again. I thought I left you in a scorpion pit."

"Obviously, you underestimated me."

"Well, I won't be making the mistake again any time soon. Preferably never again, actually."

I slammed forward, my hip hitting Vetinari's as Afhan lifted his knife away from his neck to swivel on me. Vetinari fell forward onto the ground and I fell upon Afhan like the three Furies. Whatever those are.

I felt his knife slice my skin more than once, sending stinging pain up my veins, and I gave him tit-for-tat, my knife flashing in and out. His grinning face tormented my every move and I glowered. Cocky rat bastard. I vaulted onto the table and my leg kicked out. He grabbed my delicate ankle and hauled me into the air, slamming my back into the floor. I grunted as the air flew out of me and now he was straddling me.

Painful memories resurfaced.

"It's the same as it was before. Flat on your back, begging, begging... you were so sweet, Carla, do you still have the scars?"

I snarled and vaulted upwards, sending him flying into the table, and I launched myself onto him, pummeling him for all I was worth. I was stopped by a pair of arms grabbing my elbows and tugging me away, working to withhold my struggling form. Auburn hair fell around my face, wild and tangled, and sweat fell in vast amounts down every crevice, every nick of skin. It was Vimes who cuffed Afhan and led him out. His leer was implanted on my eyelids.

I tried to break away from the man who held me, but the hands only tightened around me before slipping around my waist and tugging me closer into a grip firm as iron. I cooled down, hands clenched into fists, in the empty Rats Chamber.

"Sergeant, I'm not quite sure what the hell just happened, but I'm going to assume that you are in pain."

I found my strength again and made to lurch away, my cuts oozing blood and suddenly coming into full prominence. He pinched me roughly and I felt the sting on my skin, causing me to wince and reach for the spot. The same fingers pressed down on the spot, rubbing softly and soothing it. It was far too late to realize what spot he had chosen.

I melted in his arms as resistance gave way to the loosening of a large muscle.

"I think that this conversation is best continued when you've rested and refreshed."

---

Ha ha. Sneaky... or, you know, not... By the way, more angst will be coming up in relation to Pulotti's past. Just telling you...

Read, review, be happy, cheer for Pride-Fall.

-Sho


	8. Chapter 7

Well, THIS took a long time. Sorry, sorry. :ducks objects thrown at her:

**_MY REVIEWERS ARE ALL LOVED AND ADORED! _**Have a cookie.

All right, angst comes into play here, so don't say I didn't warn you. (However, the sarcasm is ever-present).

Enjoy.

_Seven:_

Remembrance is almost always a near-fatal thing. It can make tears prickle at your eyes or laughter bubble up from your chest. At one point, it can make you want to jump over the Maudlin Bridge. I rested my forehead against the cool glass of a window in Vetinari's room and sighed, watching my breath frost the glass. Someone moved behind me, but I knew that movement. And he knew that I knew.

"I did not know that you knew Sir Afhan Ahmed, Sergeant."

I straightened a little bit and looked over my shoulder with narrowed eyes at the bed. Vetinari sat there, watching me. I gave him a non-committal sound and turned back to face the glass.

"He's a dangerous man."

I gave a grunt. The Century of the Fruit Bat is turning out to become extremely stupid.

"I know you know several unsavory people – so does Commander Vimes."

He wanted to drag something out of me and I had a sneaking suspicion that I knew what.

"I'm intrigued as to how you met him."

My guesses never fail me. I let out a long, low sigh and shook my head against the glass.

"It's a long story."

Wrong answer.

"I have all the time in the world, Sergeant."

Damn him. I slipped down to the floor and curled up, setting my chin on my knees. Vetinari didn't move from his bed and I snarled at him. He lifted an eyebrow.

"You really want to know, don't you?"

"I'm intrigued," he repeated.

"Cripes, you don't ever give up, do you?" I tore up off the floor and glared at him as I retreated into the shadows. "You just want to know every little fault, every little problem, every little memory, so that you can use them later and know how to get the better of me... don't you?"

He stood up in his special way. "It's a fault," he said gruffly.

I snorted. He waited. It was like a game with him. It was always a game. You had to make just the right move or else he'd trap you and you'd never get out unless you gave him what you wanted.

"I met him when I was sixteen. Sixteen and foolish. I was a lance-constable." He waited. I cursed internally. "I was patrolling a rather dangerous street and someone knocked me out." I shifted uneasily. He waited. I stepped out of the shadows slightly, into the dim light, and leaned against the window. "He raped me."

I heard a sharp intake of breath. If it had been by any other means, I would have cheered for getting an audible sound of surprise from Lord Vetinari. But it had been by spilling my secret. I kept going in a monotone.

"Have you any idea what it's like? Flat on your back on the cobblestones, Watch uniform ripped away from you as if it were made of paper. Spreading your legs for him only because there was a cat-o'-nine-tails in his hands and it was whipping at your chest."

The memory from sixteen years ago came back full force in all its detail.

"And it didn't stop. He went on, and on, and on, and on... and when he stopped, when he left me to die in the gutter, my partner found me... They called me a trouble magnet and that was when I began learning on how to be... well, how I am now. I began to become sarcastic, unfeeling... and I thought that it was the end of it."

There was a heavy silence in the room and I sat down on the edge of the bed.

"He found me again in a tavern on my day off. It hurt so much..." I wavered for the first time and I saw him move towards me. I stiffened. "He used metal cuffs to the bedposts this time," I said in a tone that passed as conversational. "A small bamboo whip and a violin bow..."

I heard a curse escape the elder man's throat. I had him right where I wanted him: vulnerable, stunned, surprised. The only problem was that I was in an even more vulnerable position, on a roll, and immovable.

And it just had to be now when I can't take advantage of it. Blast.

"My partner and the other officers didn't know this time. I started learning self-defense on the sly, in the bad parts of town, which is why they said that I belonged in the Ankh-Morpork Shades. Afhan always found me though and he always got the better of me. He came up with a rather creative one once."

I paused, letting the silence become thicker.

"It was a troll and a werewolf, but a werewolf in full capability of its mental faculties. If they didn't fit, they just pushed harder..."

A strangled sound escaped Vetinari. I stood up.

"It was after that episode that a friend of mine from a brothel found out and began teaching me the finer points of weaponry. I got him to stay away after that."

Another silence.

"It had been going on for five years."

A choked sound of surprise.

"He always finds me."

Vetinari came closer and I saw pain etched onto his face. I walked up to his door and out of it, into the office, and straight across into my room. I paused.

"Emotions can't play in this sandbox. They'll only end up getting us killed."

I closed the door quietly with a resolute _click!_ behind me.

The next month passed by uneventfully, with a strained relationship between myself and Vetinari. I didn't say anything unless it was necessary and he pretended I didn't exist. It was better that way. The twentieth was a difficult matter. I woke up late and found out that Drumknott had taken Vetinari to an uppity-town restaurant to meet someone. I was pissed as hell and sent the under-secretary cowering away in fear as I marched out of the palace and into the stable, where I straddled a white horse and took off.

The idiot was in The Crown and Dagger. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I gave my horse to the stable boy, popped him three pence, and walked into the bar. I immediately spotted Drumknott's glasses, his noticeable eyes, and his stance. Everyone was, very pointedly, looking away from that back corner as I strode to it. Drumknott looked up and his eyes widened. Vetinari started to turn, but I knocked his cane out from his hand, caught his back as he stumbled, and glared with all the force of a snubbed wife. Not that I was one, obviously.

"You _idiot_," I whispered waspishly. "You could have gotten yourself _killed_. You could have left this city in the _lurch._ You could have gotten me _lynched._ Do you have no _feelings?_ And _you!_ You took _him_. By _Gods_..."

"Do calm down, Sergeant. You're making a scene."

"For the love of every god in the Disc, can you just once be... I don't know, _something!_ _Anything!_"

"I think you need a long, cold shower, Sergeant."

I stared into his eyes and deflated slightly.

"Who is he?" I asked morbidly, falling into the booth alongside the mystery man. I felt the delicate tips of knives through his black vest and I whipped out my own, staring at him. Under the black hat, black eyes burned. I inhaled sharply. "This makes you even more of a fool, Vetinari."

It was the first time I had addressed him as such. It felt strange and I saw Vetinari sit down next to Drumknott. He seemed unmoved by my slip-up.

"Lord Malecio, please meet Sergeant Carla Pulotti. Sergeant Pulotti, Lord Bragan Malecio."

My jaw worked soundlessly as he tipped his head to me. Oh, I knew him. He was the number one Assassin. THE Assassin. The EPITOME of the bloody WORD.

"You have no need for that knife."

Ahahaha...

I carefully slipped it up my sleeve and looked over at Drumknott. The poor man looked as if he were ready to run out of the bar as if the hounds from hell were after him. The top Assassin made himself comfortable against the wall and I felt his hand graze my thigh.

"She's very pretty, Havelock. Are you sure you didn't summon her specifically?"

I stiffened. I felt his leering eyes on the side of my face as I glared at Vetinari.

"No, Bragan," Vetinari whispered icily. "Let her be."

"Very well." I moved slightly to the side, ready to bolt with Vetinari's hand in mine if the need would arise. "Let us continue our business. You said ten thousand?"

The waitress arrived and I just stared at her when she asked me what I wished to eat. I had never stayed long enough in The Crown and Dagger to know what was on the menu.

"She'll have the garlic rotini with the cauliflower antipasto," Vetinari said hurriedly. "I'll have the fettucini alfredo along with the quail eggs."

"The same as he's having," Drumknott quavered.

"I'll just have some garlic bread and steak, my good woman." The waitress' face darkened slightly. I looked back at Drumknott. Why was he looking so off-balance?

"And a white wine."

I watched her go and then I slipped my eyes downward so I could see under the table. Drumknott's inner calf was being stroked by a steel-tipped book. My jaw clenched as I leaned in to Bragan's ear.

"That's a very bad idea, my man," I whispered.

He didn't even blink.

"Why?"

"Because you can't kill me. I have no price over my head. I, on the other hand, can kill you. Nasty job, isn't it, being an Assassin?"

He retreated, glaring at Vetinari. I received a swift kick to my shin and my mouth parted as I gasped harshly at the unnecessary contact of hard boot to threadbare cloth and skin.

"You were saying something about ten thousand?" I managed to get out, watching Bragan's movements out of the corner of my eye. Drumknott nodded a barely perceptible thanks and I looked over Vetinari's shoulder. I drifted.

I was jerked out of my reverie by the sharp clatter of a plate against the table. Blearily, I looked down. Cauliflower, salami, prosciutto, jalapeño, black olives... ah, yes. Antipasto. I decided to eat it – it was very good – and we continued in silence to the clinking of glasses and silverware against plates. The garlic rotini arrived and that was very good as well. We parted in silence and I hefted myself onto the horse I'd brought, bringing a raised eyebrow from Vetinari.

I'd get a bruise where he'd kicked me. I could feel my bone protesting.

"We had better get going," I said coldly.

A black horse flashed past me, nearly sending me flying into the hard cobblestone ground, and Lord Malecio turned his horse around, reared, leered at me, and turned back around to ride off into the darkness. I sneered at him before trotting alongside the Patrician's carriage. We said nothing on the way there until we came across an overturned cart in the street.

"Whoa there, my good man!" I said brightly. "What happened here?"

"My axle gave out," the old man wheezed. "Help?"

"Where's the Watch?"

"Someone said they went to fetch one, but they haven't arrived yet."

"Sergeant!"

I turned my head towards the carriage and swore forcefully. The old man knocked me off my horse with his stick and I hit the cobblestones painfully, my breath flying out of my body. I heard the sounds of scuffles, shouts, a cry of pain – I lurched upwards and lunged into the carriage, sending the miscreants sailing through the air and bang up against the wall of a nearby building.

"My Lord?"

"He's hurt!"

"SOMEONE GET THE WATCH!" I heard someone holler down the street.

"AND DOCTOR LAWN!"

I launched myself at the four men, scattering them like ants. Someone socked me in the stomach and I groaned as my body screamed at the abuse. The miscreants quickly came into contact with the Pulotti Elbow – a movement that consists of sending the elbow back into their jaw and then snapping it up to break their nose – followed closely by the Pulotti Leg – a movement that consists of spinning around, darting the leg out so that they were sent sprawling across the pavement.

I fumbled with the horse's reins and the driver helped me.

"Go get the Watch!" I yelled at him. "And find Doctor Lawn! Vimes should know where he is! Tell him to go to Sweetheart Lane, the first side alley!"

I hefted Vetinari up – he was unconscious – and Drumknott aided me. I got onto my horse and both driver and secretary helped him onto the frightened horse. I wrapped one arm around his waist.

"Drumknott, get a horse and get the hell out of here!"

One of them lunged for Drumknott and I sent my knife into his chest.

"And bring me my knife!"

I took off, the horse's hooves scattering across the cobblestones. We plunged deep into the Shades and my face tautened. I pulled Vetinari's cloak over his face as the horse clattered down the roads to where I wanted it to go. I pulled up short in front of a building.

"Marty!"

Someone opened the door and a great hulking man lurched out of the doorway. He said nothing, only aided in picking up Vetinari and walking back into the house. I tied the horse up hurriedly and followed him inside, closing the door. He had set Vetinari down on the bed and I watched the man make unhurried signs.

"I don't know what they did, Marty. Help me here."

He helped me shed Vetinari's clothes and I hissed through my teeth as I found the wound. A knife wound, at least six inches long and five inches deep in his side. It bled profusely as the man got some bandages and first aid. I worked as fast as I could, feeling his breathing slowly.

"Don't you dare die on me, Vetinari!" I said harshly into the silence. Sweat pooled off my temples. "Help's on the way. Don't you dare peg out on me now!"

The door opened and Marty led in three people – Doctor Lawn, Commander Vimes, and Captain Carrot. They stopped and stared. I was probably a sight. I had shed my vest and my sweat-slicked tunic clung to my every curve.

"It's hot in here," Lawn noted as he pooled his things out.

"It always is," I grunted.

"What happened?" Vimes asked gruffly.

"Four men and an old man. They stopped us with an overturned cart and – " I stopped in horror as I stared into the darkness of a corner. "_I let my guard down._"

I dragged my hand through my limp hair. The auburn color had lost its sheen and now only shone with greasiness and oil. Its gold highlights had disappeared in the dark of the room. Marty watched from a corner. My deep green eyes roamed the room tiredly and Marty pushed a chair into my knees. In their weakened state, they gave out and I collapsed into it, burying my face in my hands. Lawn worked in the thick silence and heat.

"You need a good long shower, Sergeant," Vimes said.

My face was probably shiny with oil and sweat. I probably stank. I probably reeked of fear and anger.

"I know, sir."

I couldn't keep my eyes off Vetinari's pale body, his chest rising and falling slowly, like a man on death row. We waited. It was just another game. Just another one of his bloody games.

Except this time, I don't think that I can keep up with him.

See? The angst! The cliffhanger!

Do you seriously think I'm going to kill him off? Please.

Anyway, read, review – and I don't know if I explained the Assassins' thing correctly – but remember, even if I didn't, she's from somewhere else. So...

Yeah.

Read, review and I swear I'll update faster. SORRY!

-Sho


	9. Chapter 8

...What can I say but: Hi, I'm back? Thanks to Oakeneye who beat me – several times – with a stick – to get moving. ... I actually have all the way up to chapter eleven. I just never got around to updating. --

Let's move along, shall we? Feel free to fume at me for taking so damn long. (I warn you now, this chapter covers several months in rapid succession to see how things change. I liked how it turned out, even though it still, of course, needs major tweaking.)

_Eight:_

I must have fallen asleep because when I opened my eyes, I was alone. I could hear the two Watchmen and Lawn in the kitchen, Lawn translating the mute Marty's signs. Vetinari still lay where he did before. I moved towards him and sat on the edge of the bed. His veins stood out from his pale skin. The stitches were black and stark against it. There was no more blood and a sheet covered him up to his hips. I pulled it a bit higher to cover the long atrocity that marred him.

"I've only been here two months, Lord Vetinari," I whispered. "But I know how the city works. I have friends in the lowest places, because those are the ones you can count on – most of the time. They won't stab you in the back for money as people like... like Lord Selachii would, even though he'd use an Assassins. These are the real Assassins, the low workers, the ones that keep to the voids. But I have a few friends in those high places and one of them... damn it, Vetinari, I worked my ass off for you and I'm not going to let one little slip send the city into an uproar, hear me?"

I stared at him and then laughed hollowly. I found my hand beginning to play with his long, tapered fingers.

"Look at me. I probably sound like an idiot," I finished morosely.

There was a silence and, suddenly, those fingers tightened around mine. I inhaled sharply and look over at his face. His dark eyes bored into mine and my lips parted in surprise and glee. He managed something like a smile and I squeezed back. He licked his lips and life went on.

"Sergeant Pulotti, what the _hell_ are you doing?" someone asked tiredly.

I looked up brightly from my position in front of the wall and grinned widely at the look on the Patrician's face.

"It's a dart board, I believe. You throw darts at it. Each ring counts for a certain number of points," I said helpfully.

"Yes, I know _that_. Why is it hanging from a nail driven carelessly into an oak plank that forms part of my bedroom wall?"

I rolled my eyes. "Decoration," I sneered.

"Pulotti –"

"I figured you might want some company, sir."

He stared at me and I brought out a wooden box, slipping the top off. A pile of twenty or thirty darts lay there.

"Care to play, sir?"

He stared at me that night of the twentieth of the third month, sighed, took off his cloak, and picked up a dart. He threw it.

It landed in the fourth ring.

The night passed.

"Sergeant Pulotti, what the hell is _that?_"

I looked over at him from where I stood before his bed. I looked down at it, then at the night table, then at the cot next to the other side of the night table, pressed between it and the wall.

"I believe it's a cot, sir. You sleep on it when there's nowhere else _to_ sleep," I said helpfully.

"Pulotti –"

"I'm not sleeping in that chair like last month, sir. With all due respect. The Watch are turning up more and more leads, but they keep eluding them. It's as if they have an informant in the Watch. I'm sleeping comfortably tonight."

He rolled his eyes on the night of the twentieth of the fourth month, took off his coat, and looked over at me when I offered him a dart. He threw it.

It landed in the third ring.

The night passed.

"Sergeant Pulotti, what the hell is _this_?"

I looked up from my cot where I read a book and saw him contemplating a sketch book. My lips parted and I scrambled towards him.

"Nothing, sir!"

"No? I believe it's a sketch book. You draw in it with pencil, carbon..." Holding it above my head, he flipped it open casually and I groaned, burying my face in my hands. There was silence.

"These are very good."

I peeked out from between my fingers. He was looking at a page, head slightly tilted.

"Is this Commander Vimes?"

My mouth opened and shut. "Um..."

"It's a rather good likeness... and that would be Drumknott. It's a rather nice pose, I daresay that Will would like this one..." Oh, shit. He paused. I froze. We stood that way for a long time before I heard him close the sketch book and press it into my hands on the night of the twentieth of the fifth month. I didn't look up at him, but set the sketch book in the night stand's drawer, pulled out the box of darts, and offered it to him. He took off his coat, picked up his favorite, a black one ringed in yellow. He threw it.

It landed in the second ring.

The night passed.

"Sergeant Pulotti, I don't suppose you recall a point in time around three months ago when you said that the Watch had an informer?"

I looked up at him two days from the twentieth of the sixth month. I stared at him and blinked. I stood up hurriedly, knocking my glass of water off the table. He moved towards me and caught my arms, keeping me from sending my dinner flying across the room. He stared at me and I worried my lower lip.

"I'll get Sergeant Angua."

I moved out of the room to send a clacks to Sergeant Angua. Around ten minutes later, the wolf came pawing at the door. I let her in.

"We have a problem, Sergeant," Vetinari said calmly from his end of the dinner table. I had actually convinced him to eat at the dinner table like a normal human. Of course, he insisted on bringing his paperwork with him. "We think that there might be an informer in the Watch."

The wolf growled and nodded ferociously. "You know, then, what you must do?"

The wolf nodded and moved out of the room after nudging my leg and looking up at my stiff form with knowing eyes. I winced.

"I do believe I've lost my appetite, Sergeant."

"Of course, sir," I said morbidly.

"Sergeant Pulotti, what the hell do you think you're _doing_?"

I looked up at Vetinari from where I lounged upside-down from an unnecessary beam.

"Seeing the world from the point of view of a bat?"

"Looks to me as if you're trying to make all the blood rush to your head."

He took off his cloak and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, taking out his cravat. I followed the trail of skin until it disappeared midway down his chest. As my brain registered what I was doing, one my knees slipped and I fell down into Vetinari's arms.

"Clumsy."

"Am not!"

"Oh?"

I deflated. He smirked down at me.

"Look at you, you're all flushed. And you're probably dizzy. That's what you get."

"Thanks for your sympathy, sir," I said sullenly.

"Oh, do stop pouting." He tossed me onto his bed, big and covered in cool black sheets. I snuggled into the cold and wrapped my arms around one pillow, staring up at him with doe-eyes. "Bah. You say you're thirty-two – you're barely eighteen."

I grinned. "I do have that overall effect, sir."

He opened the drawer and took out the dart box. I bounced up and he picked up his dart. he looked over at the dart board before looking back at me. His eyes stared into mine and I felt myself falling into a pool of undescribable emotions. With a shadow of a smile playing about his thin lips, he let the dart fly.

It hit the first ring.

It trembled an inch away from the bull's eye.

He stared down at me for a long time as my fingers fumbled around with a dart and I tried to look away. I found that I couldn't. His fingers reached up and I closed my eyes. I felt them thread through my wild curls and my face flushed again.

"You aren't hanging upside-down this time," I heard him whisper.

"No, sir."

His fingers grazed my cheek before he took a single step back.

The night passed.


	10. Chapter 9

-- Obviously, time to edit chapters isn't allowed anymore. -backs away slowly from stick- All of you can thank Oakeneye for making me hurry up with my no-longer languorous proofreading, as I don't have a beta.

Speaking of betas... if anyone would like to beta my next story (slash, Vetinari/Vimes and some extreme AU I'm thinking, but not sure yet) or, better yet, become my Discworld beta (-happy grin?-) feel free to PM me. I seriously would like one.

Soooo here's chapter nine. This story is fourteen chapters long. So. Yeah. I finished. I love all my reviewers! You guys ROCK. So much! Seriously.

-hands out cookies and milk-

_**The Things I Do**_

_Havelock Vetinari / OFC pairing_

_Nine:_

Our relationship, while still friendly, was a bit strained again. I wasn't quite sure what had transpired that night two weeks ago, but it had felt... wonderful. It had felt _right. _And that scared me no end. I had been here a total of seven months now and it had a certain feeling as to "home"(1). My room at the Palace was now decorated with some framed pictures of Ankh-Morpork and the windows were covered with dark blue curtains (2). My room at the Yard was now more cheerful than most others, but still sparse.

Currently, I was seated at a small desk in a corner, sketching away. I don't know if Vetinari noticed that I kept looking back at him, at his furrowed brow and darkened eyes, at his long nose and pale skin, at the forearms revealed by the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. I glanced at the clock: midnight. The man burns night oil, doesn't he? I continued with my sketching, my free hand seeking the cup of coffee Drumknott had brought me before he had turned in.

Someone pressed the warm ceramic cup into my hand and I jolted, sending the hot brown liquid everywhere. I looked up sheepishly into Vetinari's eyes, who seemed amused, damn him. He handed me a cloth and I half-hearted dabbed at my stained trousers and I glanced ruefully at the rug.

"Sorry about that, sir."

"It's not a problem, Pulotti..." He seemed rather distracted and I looked back up from my chair. He was holding my sketch pad and giving my drawing a look. I froze. "It's a rather good likeness."

My mouth opened and closed like a fish as he set the drawing of himself bent over a paper, pen in hand, the light of a lamp illuminating his face harshly back onto my table.

"I suggest you change, Sergeant."

I merely stared at him as he blew out the lamp, leaving me in darkness, and closed his bedroom door behind himself softly. The man continues in astounding me.

ooo

(1)"Home", of course, being wherever you currently have food that won't fight back.

(2) While the pictures themselves were an amazing likeness to the streets, they weren't exactly beautiful. I mean, come on, Ankh-Morpork belongs below the sea sometimes. It's not exactly home to the most amazing of architecture.

It was early in the morning as I leaned against the wall fiddling with my knife that something tapped on the window. I looked over and saw the gargoyle waiting patiently with a letter. I opened up the window.

"Thank you, Constable Downspout. Generous of you."

"No' a ro'lem, 'a'e."

"Do they expect a reply?"

"'ink 'o, 'a'e."

"All right, then, give me a moment."

I opened up the scroll and read it. I could feel the blood in my veins freezing as I did so. My mouth snapped shut in a thin line and I glanced over at Constable Downspout.

"Here." I picked up a pen from Vetinari's desk and scribbled a hasty reply. I did not like the contents of the letter. "For Commander Vimes' eyes only, you understand?"

"'Oka', 'a'e."

"I shall see you later, Constable."

"'ye, 'ar'eant."

The gargoyle left and I sat down hard on the floor, glaring at the paper. When things seemed to be unable to get any worse, they did. It was one of the basic rules of the Disc.

"Is something the matter, Sergeant?"

I looked up at Vetinari and sighed. "The information was a bust, sir. There was no one there. Angua found a trail to the Temple of Small Gods before the smell of dung took over. Someone covered their tracks."

"That can't be what you're so morose about?"

I looked away. "My cousin is coming, sir."

"Your... cousin?"

"From Quirm, sir."

"Quirm... ah, this wouldn't happen to be Lady Scarlatina, would it?"

I clenched my hands. "Yes, sir."

"She comes to search for a husband. And you are worried because?"

"You have to greet her, sir, and grant her lodgings. Meaning that I have to be there. Meaning she'll see me. Meaning it's going to be hell. Sir."

Vetinari lifted an eyebrow in my direction and I felt his fingers wrap around my shoulder. I looked down at it in surprise.

"You needn't fear her, Sergeant." I looked up at him. "You are worth far more than a lady with nothing to do but search for a husband, fiddle with money, and go to tea parties."

I stared at him for a moment before I began to laugh. I soon found myself leaning against him as the tears of mirth splashed down my face. When I finally calmed down, I was safely secure in his arms, tight against his chest. I stilled in surprise as I stared at us in the wall mirror next to my door. He set his chin against my temple and watched me in the mirror.

"And you are far more beautiful."

I blinked. He hadn't said that, had he? Uncaring, tyrannical, annoying Vetinari?

He pulled away and moved into his room, closing the door and leaving me stupefied.

So what else is new?

I waited stiff-backed next to Vetinari just inside the Palace, my beret set jauntily on my head, the bright gold feather falling delicately over my face. Bloody thing. I puffed at it for the millionth time, shifting in the white shift and black vest decorated in silver, and Vetinari stepped lightly on my black-booted toe. I scowled horribly at him and he contrived to look bored. Bloody ponce.

And then came my living nightmare.

Dressed in a dress of scarlet and black lace with a black lace veil set over her face and a black fan in one creamy hand, she strode up the path preceded and followed by bodyguards and servants. I glowered horrendously.

"My Lord Vetinari," she said smoothly in her breathy voice.

"Lady Scarlatina. It's a pleasure to have you here."

"It is a pleasure to be here in Ankh-Morpork, the city of dreams."

I choked on my laughter and stared off into space, face twitching madly. I felt her disdainful blue eyes on me.

"Carla."

"Scarlet."

"What are you doing here? And with a feather in your hat as well?"

"Getting paid."

"I should hope so. Wouldn't want the Patrician dying on us, now do we, my lord?"

"Of course not, my lady. If you'll follow me..."

Vetinari gave me a warning glance and I lifted my hands briefly in a motion of surrender. Just as Vetinari's hand enclosed over Scarlet's, I saw a motion in the crowds. I stiffened, hand going for my knife. The dagger was flying through the air and my hand snapped out. It sliced my palm, blood pooling onto the cobblestones, and I felt my face go white.

"Carla!"

I didn't make out who said it as I looked down at my side. Another dagger lay just above my hip. Damn.

"Get him inside," I said hoarsely. "Damn it, Vimes, GET HIM INSIDE!"

The Watch hustled them away, Scarlet looking very pale indeed, and I slumped against the wall, dropping the knife and grabbing the one embedded in my hip. I yanked it out and let out a harsh gasp. Someone caught me as I fell and the world took off in a race to make me dizzy.

And it didn't even stop to call Mister de Worde.

My hand was enclosed in someone else's colder, longer-fingered one. I opened my eyes to stare at the ceiling, a ceiling I now knew well.

"Lawn did say you'd survive. But that it'd hurt."

"No surprise... there."

I turned my head to see Vetinari letting go of my hand.

"Fifteen stitches total. Nice work, Sergeant."

I scowled. It hurt.

"Your cousin is boarding with Lord Selachii."

And that just made my day. I grinned evilly and heard a rough, unused chuckle come from Vetinari.

"Thank you, Sergeant."

I looked up at him in surprise and he sat down on the cot, picking up a book to read it. I stared at him for a long moment before drifting back to sleep.

ooo

Okay, so I'm not entirely sure why I brought in Scarlet in the first place. It seemed like the thing to do to help her get hurt, heh heh... I'm twisting the end around in different spots. I've written five different endings.

They all suck.

-- Make me happy and review?

-Sho


	11. Chapter 10

School started and my life has turned hectically upside-down, so that's the explanation for the tardiness. However, look at it this way: I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year (National Novel Writing Month, for those of you who don't know) and this story has to be completely up by October.

Long time period, I know, but at least it's not indefinite anymore.

Okay, this is, like, THE major chapter. ... Rather, the first major chapter. It needed major editing. Anything that you think is absolutely bone-chillingly horrible or so un-canon you can't take it (because I've already overstepped the line by giving Havelock feelings and making him sleep O.o) TELL ME.

Otherwise... here it is. Chapter ten. Review please?

-hands out chocolate cakes-

_**The Things I Do**_

_Havelock Vetinari / OFC pairing_

ooo

_Ten:_

I paced in the Oblong Office, hands behind my back, brow furrowed. The clock ticked away behind me and Drumknott watched me from a chair. The carpet muffled my footsteps as I stared at the floor and listened to the scratching on the secretary's pen. The creak of a floorboard informed me of His Lordship's arrival and I stood straight and stiff, as he had told me that he would be arriving with some of the high-class.

Vetinari gave me a nod as I ripped off a textbook salute to Vimes, who gave me an approving look. Behind him, the heads of the Assassin's Guild, the Thieves' Guild, and the Seamstress' Guild looked me over and I stayed in that position, my hip sparking in pain.

"At ease, Sergeant," Vimes mumbled, and I flipped, staring over Vetinari's shoulder.

The heads of the three oldest Guilds and the Duke of Ankh sat down around Vetinari's desk.

"We have a matter to discuss, my lords," Vetinari said as he shuffled his papers around. Drumknott's pen was poised over his pad of paper. "The sect is getting more dangerous by day. They are no longer attacking the twentieth of every month."

"We're doing our best, my lord Vetinari," Vimes said, every syllable lined with tiredness.

"There have been no contracts at my guild."

As if we could believe you.

"Sergeant Pulotti, if you would please describe what you've noted."

I licked my lower lip and met none of their eyes, finding it interesting to inspect the grain of the wood. And I began.

"They keep to the shadows and try to attack from them, so they've been well trained. They use blades more often than not – poison isn't likely, unless the blade is tipped with it. Most of them favor their left hand and use a spinning throw."

Mrs. Palm lifted an eyebrow and I demonstrated. I whipped the knife out of my pocket and flipped it over my thumb, making it spin through the air and dig into the wall over Vetinari's shoulder, where it trembled. I licked my upper lip.

"Spinning throw," I said simply. "The day Sc – Lady Scarlatina arrived, they used straight throws, like you would throw a dart."

Vetinari had taken my knife out of the wall and was now playing with it.

"Gentlemen and ladies, I have reason to believe that we are all in danger. We need to be careful in such times as these."

He set my knife at the edge of the table. "This meeting is adjourned."

I watched them go. Vimes nodded at me as he left and I nodded back, barely perceptibly. Drumknott left as well, once Vetinari waved a hand at him. I stayed there, stiff as a bored, pain now curling around my thigh. The silence was broken only by the scratching of his pen against paper.

"Do sit down, Pulotti, there's a good girl."

My leg buckled beneath me and I fell to the floor with a harsh gasp.

"I meant in a chair."

I gave an ironic laugh. "Yessir, Vetinari sir," I muttered as I dragged myself up.

Two hands reached under my arms and thumped me into a chair, making me squeak in surprise. There stood Lord Malecio, to my eternal chagrin.

"My lord Malecio," I mumbled as I massaged my hip.

"Bragan."

"Havelock."

"Did you find anything?" Vetinari was now looking up.

"You bet I did. Wait till you see this."

He slipped him an envelope and Vetinari drew out a few pieces of paper – iconographs. Vetinari's face darkened dangerously and I shifted, eye on my knife.

"When did you catch these?"

"After the entrance of that lady from Quirm."

I tilted my head to see if I could see something, but it was futile. He slipped them back into their envelope and into the desk drawer.

"Thank you, Bragan. Your payment is ready for you."

Bragan tipped his hat at Vetinari.

"Havelock. Pleasure doing business with you." He turned to me and lifted my hand to his lips. "Pulotti. A pleasure to meet you."

I watched him go. "Bloody pillock," I sneered at the closed door.

"How's your hip, Sergeant?"

I looked at him in surprise. "Better, sir."

"Good. You're going on a little field trip."

"I – what?"

ooo

Bloody Uberwald. I'm in frigging _Uberwald_. I kicked at a rock peevishly before yanking the gold feather out of my beret and tossing it to the ground. Fixing the hat, I approached the gates of the castle of Lady Margolotta.

"Hello, Thargeant. The lady hath been exthpecting you."

"Hello, Igor," I muttered as I stepped inside.

"How nice to finally meet you, Sergeant. Havelock's told me so much about you!"

I met the vampire's gaze squarely and lifted an eyebrow. "Has he now?"

"Would you be wanting thomething, Thargeant?"

"No, thank you, Igor."

I sat down with the vampire and took the green beret off my head, letting my curls fall down over my shoulders. She watched me.

"So you want to know about Leroux."

"It would be helpful, Lady Margolotta."

"White wine, Sergeant?"

"No, thank you, Lady."

She sat down on the sofa and I eyeballed the pink sweater. It was decorated with bats. Bloody vampires.

"Well, this is what I know..."

ooo

"... and he conceived another son with a wh – seamstress _here_, in ... er ... Bonk, I believe."

"It's a very colorful map, Sergeant. Please get to the point."

I looked over at Vetinari and then down at the colored pins which I was sticking in a large map of Uberwald. I cleared my throat nervously.

"Right, well, he formed a few more, this Leroux and... ran wild with a wolf pack that we know well."

I smacked a bright silver pin randomly in the middle of MMBU.

"Somewhere around there anyway."

"No, Sergeant."

I jumped a foot into the air as his hand reached out and grasped mine, not letting it leave the silver pushpin. He was too close to me. I could feel the heat radiating from his black clothing. He made me lift the silver pushpin out and press it farther north, deeper into the woods.

"I think it was there."

My breathing was coming out in short little pants as his fingers traced designs on the back of my hand.

"Sergeant?"

"Mm?"

"Are you quite all right?"

"If you ever get a move on."(1)

The thumbtacks went flying across the floor as he spun me around and pressed me up against the wall, looking down at my bright face. His breath was hot across my skin.

"And what would my moves consist of?"

"Something to leave me breathless, I hope."

His lips were colder and more pliable than I expected. I gave a little sigh of contentment and tried to wrap my arms around my neck. He pulled away and shook his head at me, pinning my hands over my head cross-wise with one hand.

"I am in control, Sergeant," he whispered in my ear. "I am always in control."

I nipped at his ear, feeling both foolish and brave at the same time (2).

"Tyrant."

"That's what they say."

He nibbled gently on my lower lip before moving to my neck, which I stretched and then leaned towards him like a greedy child. He blew his hot breath across my cool skin and I shivered as goosebumps arose.

"My lord Vetinari," I breathed.

"Carla," he growled, setting his free hand on my waist.

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, his dark eyes deep and forbidding. (3)

"Havelock," I breathed.

He managed something that passed off as a pleased smirk before he reached for the map and plucked away a silver thumbtack. He spun it before my eyes.

"And Leroux conceived a half-breed, unwanted, ugly, a man with mental problems, it seemed to some, and this half-breed moved _here_ –," he jammed the thumbtack right into Pseudopolis Yard on the large map of Ankh-Morpork," – and became known...," his lips moved up to my ear, "– as Constable Ping."

I hissed.

"Now then... where was I?"

"Making me breathless, I believe."

"Ah, yes."

I'm told that Drumknott suffered an almost fatal surprise when he opened the door to hand in a form and found Havelock kissing me against the wall while my wrists were crossed and pinned above our heads.

ooo

(1) This comes under the heading of "attempted suicide". Fortunately, he took to it rather well.

(2) These adjectives always come under the same heading and always seem to be next to one another.

(3) Shoot me if I continue to sound like I stepped out of a paperback romance novel.

I picked Constable Ping because in the Terry Pratchett books, if you remember, everyone that comes into contact with him says he "looks funny", "slow", and other things. I could have put in Constable Visit (-the-Infidel-with-Explanatory-Pamphlets, yes, I was getting there), but I like him too much to kill him.

-Sho


	12. Chapter 11

I'm here, I'm here, I'm sorry it took so long! Sorry, sorry... sorry...

I'm glad ya'll liked the advances...

_**The Things I Do**_

_Havelock Vetinari / OFC pairing_

ooo

_Eleven:_

I turned around, yawned, and opened my eyes before flailing my arms and falling off the edge of my cot with a sound thump. I swore heavily and heard a tsk behind me.

"Such foul language from such a pretty mouth," Havelock said silkily as he helped me up.

I looked up at him. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

He bent down and kissed me, his lips molding over mine. My hair hung in sweaty curls around my face, gracing my bosom, and he pulled away to look at me.

"You need a bath."

I looked down at myself. "Yes, I suppose so."

"Do you need any help?"

He looked completely innocent and, indeed, bored by the question. My mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water. He closed my mouth and lay a finger over it.

"Forgive me," he mumbled. "I forgot."

I stared after his slim figure after he kissed my cheek and walked away to let me bathe. Then, I scowled.

I was a chicken, wasn't I?

I bathed slowly, closing my eyes at the water ran down in rivulets down my skin. A thump made me snap my eyes open and reach for my towel, for the knife strapped onto it. Another thump made me scramble out, wrapping the towel around myself, as I rushed out of the bedroom. Bad idea.

"Ah, Carla."

A knife at my throat made me freeze as I turned widened eyes towards Vetinari, in the same position. Someone pressed their nose against the back of my ear. Talk about disgusting.

"Let the knife go, love."

It clattered against the ground as I stiffened.

"_You._"

"Yes. Me. I missed you, Carla."

I snarled and Afhan stepped out of the dark. Havelock's face darkened in anger.

"Let Have – my lord Vetinari go... please, Afhan."

"Why?" he breathed. "You look so luscious, Carla. Did Havelock think so when he took you? Took you just like I did, flat on your back, moaning like a whore?"

Honestly. Does he think that this scares me? I'm thirty-two, for crying out loud!

"No," I said simply. Havelock looked dangerous. I felt sorry for the man behind him.

"Let him go, Afhan. Let him go. It's not worth it. This place is surrounded by the Watch."

"Is it?"

I cast a look outside the window, to the street where Constable Shoe was supposed to be patrolling. He wasn't there. Talk about strokes of bad luck, eh? And then I remembered.

"You forgot about the gargoyles."

I could feel the sudden fear rolling off him in waves. It'd be a party for a werewolf.

"Bring him," Afhan muttered. "They're looking for me."

"How did you get out, Afhan?"

"They put me in the special dungeon."

I looked over at Havelock and saw his chagrined features. I'd have to ask about "the special dungeon" later... I hope. We were dragged outside, down the hall – I saw Drumknott knocked out, the poor man – and shoved down stairs and around corners, until we reached a portion of wall that slid apart at the touch of Afhan's hand.

Seriously, this was all a bit more dramatic than what I could take.

He shoved me forward and his hand snapped out. I felt the pressure around my towel and skidded over the stones. Naked skin scraped, I flipped over to meet Afhan's gaze, the towel dangling from his fingertips.

"It ma**ke**s me all fuz**zy** inside to see you li**ke** this, **Ser**geant. **Le**roux wo**ul**d ha**ve** been pro**ud** of me."

My mouth parted when I recognized the thick Klatchian accent from Dagon Street.

"It was you! You – gods –" I started backing up away from him down the hallway out of habit, even as everything clicked into place.

Leroux had conceived Constable Ping and – _had trained Afhan._ In fear. My head whirled. I was missing pieces to the puzzle, great gaping holes. The sect on Dagon Street – must have been formed by Afhan – who had found out about my protecting Vetinari through Ping – so the easiest way to me was through him – but that didn't make sense...

He had taken control of me for the first time on the twentieth.

But Havelock –

"You're thinking too much again."

He slammed me against the wall and I saw Havelock jerk.

_Don't_, I breathed, _please don't make it worse than it is._

"You're _mine_, Carla. _Mine._"

Fuck. Was he jealous of Havelock? I stared at him in incredulity and then swept my gaze over to the Patrician.

"Oh, I wanted him out, Carla. Completing my last favor to Leroux." He leaned forward and smiled against the skin of my neck. "But you were the catalyst."

He had put together the sect to assassinate Havelock as a favor to his ex-master, only on the twentieth of each month as – as an _honor_ to his first rape? I looked over at Havelock. There was something missing. What was the connection between Vetinari and Leroux?

"Move, Carla."

I turned my back to them, face spasming, and walked, even as the tendrils left of intelligence scrabbled around for a plan.

The darkness wrapped around us, even as I realized that were in a subterranean passage by now. Under the Palace, under Ankh-Morkork. And I thought this place was built on miles and miles of loam.

I practically ran face-first into the door, having not seen it.

"Havelock," I whispered when he materialized next to me as Afhan opened the door. "From where do you know Leroux?"

"He tried to train me in Uberwald."

And we stumbled inside.

Oh. Buggering, sodding, bloody hell.

ooo

I know, I know. It came totally out of left field.

I think.

-Sho


	13. Chapter 12

**The Things I Do**

_Havelock/OFC pairing_

**_Author's Important Note:_** Okay, I have something to say that's really very important.

I like constructive criticism. No, wait, I love it. I love constructive criticism, I love making things better.

If all you've got to say is that my story sucks, there's something called a (censored) BACK BUTTON. Click it, don't bother to review, and do me a favor and don't piss me off by saying "this could have been done better" and not explain HOW or WHY. I hate that. I really do. It gets my blood going.

So, this chapter has **TORTURE. **If this isn't your thing, if it squicks you out, go away or skip to the end and wait for the last two chapters.

However, if you've helped me along my way and fixed and edited and praised, you're on my good list. You're why I'm still here.

ooo

_Twelve:_

The pain was excruciating.

My hands tightened in their bonds, even as the whip cracked across my naked back for the fiftieth time. My mind stuttered on its counting.

"Stop."

For everything we had been put through, Havelock's voice hadn't broken from its unwavering, commanding tone. I closed my eyes.

_No. Don't do this._

"What is it, old man? You want to take her place?"

"Stop it, Afhan. What do you _want?_"

He appeared in front of my face and I glared at him, at the leer that was always there for me, just for me. Rat bastard.

"I want to break you before I kill him." He said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Because you want him on his knees begging for my life before you do so? It's not going to happen, Afhan."

_Please don't let it happen._

"It's what Leroux wanted." He disappeared from my field of vision and was replaced by Havelock.

_No, Gods, no, don't let him see my face, please..._ The gods were enjoying this. They were laughing their asses off up there at me.

He stared down at me, features chiseled into immobility, his clothing torn. I closed my eyes.

I tried to form a sarcastic retort, but my wit abandoned me, died on my tongue. Perfect timing. I could hear Havelock moving closer and I cracked open one eye, even as I jerked against the restraints and grit my teeth against the pain.

The penknife in his hand didn't escape my notice.

_NO!_

I fell away from the boards I had been tied to spread-eagle and scrambled over the floor, cursing at Havelock as the other drew their swords. Afhan's whip stung at my hip and I collapsed in front of Havelock, vomiting over the floor from the pain. A hand landed on my shoulder but it disappeared.

I felt blood pool over my skin, not mine.

"Stand up, damn you, Carla."

"Bugger and fuck, Havelock, what the hell do you think you're _doing_!" Perfect. I just swore at the Patrician.

And called him by his first name.

Seriously, it just gets better and better.

Afhan was laughing at us and I grunted.

"Give me _that._" I took the penknife from him and launched at the first man with a sword. I gashed his cutting arm, the sword ran down my side.

I flipped the sword up into the air and sliced his head off, even as his eyes reigned with confusion as to why he was now the one with the penknife.

"Sleight of hand. Always keep your eye on the ball."

I bounced on the balls of my feet and grabbed Havelock's wrist, my fingers tightening into his skin. Afhan wouldn't stop laughing. It was starting to get to me.

I swear I felt a tick right below my eye...

Thuds echoed on the roof above our heads and I grinned maniacally.

"They've found you, Afhan," I whispered. "They've found us."

I shoved Havelock onto the floor. The crossbow bolt lodged itself into my thigh.

Fuck. I was a total _idiot_ sometimes.

I heard the doors bang open and pandemonium erupted. I sunk to the floor next to the Patrician.

"The things I do for you, Havelock," I heard myself croak. "The things I do for you."

ooo

This was one of the more serious chapters. :wrinkles nose: Eh.

I changed the ending again. Grr. It's been bouncing back and forth. Maybe by the time we're done, which is 2 chapters away, it'll be a decently sarcastic ending.

Remember, if you think my story sucks and you don't give CONSTRUCTIVE criticism, go away. You're really annoying.

-Sho-


	14. Chapter 13

I won't bother you with an author's note.

**The Things I Do**

_Havelock/OFC_

_Thirteen:_

_...we're fine..._

_...Angua untouched by Afhan's silver..._

_...Ping killed by Leroux..._

_...Afhan still at large, so you'll be safe here. Please don't do anything stupid, Pulotti, I know you're capable. I am in perfectly adept hands and the security has been tightened._

_Do stop frowning, I know you hate this, but it's for the best._

_Just remember that you're doing this for me._

_-H.V._

I crumpled up the letter for the umpteenth time and pressed my fist to my head. I was going insane, locked up in a cabin in the middle of who-knows-where. I had been here for what felt like years, when it had been two months. I had nothing, no communication with anyone except the people in the village who thought I was some sort of witch and refused to talk to me directly.

At least they left food on my doormat.

Trust Havelock to do something like this.

Rat bastard.

I curled up on my bed and set my chin on my knees, staring at the fire. Invariably, my thoughts whirled around him and I couldn't stop my reaction.

Gods damn you, Havelock. They must be having one hell of a party up there at my expense.

I stretched out over the bed and shed my clothing, staring up at the rafters as my hand drifted down my body.

_Havelock._

_Please come back._

ooo

_He was staring down at the massacred body of Afhan and I stood in the shadows, watching his prone form turn away in disgust and walk back into the palace._

_"Havelock!" Nothing. I could make no sound and I cried into my hands as he drifted right past me, the edges of his cloak whispering against my naked skin..._

I sat up in bed, sweating, and pulled my cloak around myself, stepping out of the cabin. The wind stung, cold, unforgiving, and I strode over the hills and knolls, hand hovering all the time over my sword. The path curved and bumped under the worn soles of my boots and I stopped at the edges of the forest that surrounded me.

He was here.

He had been here since the beginning, hiding out, biding his time. Waiting. Lurking. I wasn't stupid.

Well. Right now, I wasn't stupid. Put Vetinari into the equation and I was bound to lose all control of my faculties.

The shadow flitted through the trees and I wondered if he saw me. My ears pricked into the silence and long, drawn-out howl of a wolf sent a thrill of fear through my bones.

_...Please don't do anything stupid, Pulotti..._

Too late, Havelock.

"Hello, Leroux."

The wolf morphed and he leered at me. He was more than a man, with canine teeth and wild muscles. My spine froze, but I tossed my head.

"Afhan's here, too."

The werewolf smiled, but didn't make a sound. My hand gripped the hilt of my sword.

"How come I'm still alive?" Bad question.

Leroux jerked forward – I drew my sword and poked it against his skin. He laughed, the first noise he made.

"It's not silver, little girl. You can't kill me with that!"

"No. I suppose I can't."

He slammed me against a tree and I let him rip away the blouse. The silver pentacle gleamed in the moonlight between my breasts and the werewolf froze.

"With this, however..."

I pivoted forward, pentacle grasped in my hand. Blood flowed over my skin and his claws ripped at my pants before he took off in another direction, snarling. I knew I hadn't killed him. I knew he'd still be out there. But for some reason, I had a thought that if I completed one last thing, he wouldn't be back for me.

"Carla. You're already ready for me!"

I turned around, the moonlight striking off metallic red and dark silver. The sword flew from my hands and lodged itself in his heart. He gasped and choked up blood and acid. He looked horrible.

He had been running from Leroux.

And now neither of us had to.

I could have said something witty. I could have sneered in his face and said, "End of the action, you rat bastard." Or, "You're lucky you aren't a werewolf." Or, "May my body grace your nightmares." Or just a simple, "See you in the afterlife, you son of a bitch."

All of them and more ran through my mind as he died at my bare feet. But I sagged, ran a bloodied hand down my face, and sighed.

"Fuck this."

I walked back to the cabin, leaving my sword in his chest, and stopped at the top of the last knoll, stark naked and bathed by the moon.

I wondered if they were still laughing or if this was what they meant all along.

I'd mail the body and the sword express tomorrow, in a big pine coffin, to Ankh-Morpork. I'd wait and sit and pace, and maybe catch up on my dart-throwing, and probably wank every night. Is it called wanking for a woman?

It didn't matter.

None of it mattered anymore.

ooo

Well that certainly took forever.

::blinks::

I'll be barricading my house now...

-PurpleEmperor


End file.
